IMMENSEE 


IT 


TMMENSEE 


COPYRIGHT 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1907 
Published  October  12,  1907 


?Tf)f  lafcrsttir  \Jrtss 

R.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


CONTENTS 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 
THEODORE  STORM — AN  APPRECIATION 

I — THE  OLD  MAN'S  VISION 

II — ELIZABETH  AND   REINHARDT 

III — A  DAY  IN  THE  WOODS 

IV — CHRISTMAS  TIDE 

V — CHANGES  AT  HOME 

VI — A  LETTER 

VII — IMMENSEE 

VIII — THE  WATER  LILY 

IX — ELIZABETH 
X — THE  VISION  FADES  AWAY 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Do  NOT  FORGET"  ....  FRONTISPIECE 
"OuR  HOUSE  is  READY"  .  SECOND  CHAPTER 

THE  PICNIC  ....  THIRD  CHAPTER 
"CoME  WITH  ME"  .  .  FOURTH  CHAPTER 

THERE  WAS  A  CANARY  IN  THE  CAGE  FIFTH  CHAPTER 
ELIZABETH  ....  SEVENTH  CHAPTER 

IN  THE  GARDEN  ROOM  .  .  EIGHTH  CHAPTER 
"Do  You  KNOW  THIS  FLOWER?"  NINTH  CHAPTER 
"NEVER"  NINTH  CHAPTER 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 


I  M  M  E  NS  E  E 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 

HE  present  translator  of 
"Immensee"  has  not 
sought  to  make  a  literal 
rendering  of  the  original 
text.  His  object  has 
\  been  to  give  English 
readers  as  excellent  an 
English  version  as  he  is 
capable  of  making,  so  that  it  shall  bring  to  them 
an  understanding  and  appreciation  of  the  beautiful 
story,  corresponding  as  nearly  as  possible  with  that 
which  the  original  must  bring  to  German  readers. 
With  this  object  in  view  he  has  made  a  free  trans- 
lation, and  has  eliminated  the  German  idiom 


I  M  M  E  N  SEE 
wherever  it  was  practical,  and  has  also  made  such 
additions  and  changes  as  seemed  to  him  necessary 
for  more  perfect  English  form.  The  translator,  in 
this  connection,  acknowledges  the  courtesy  of  Mr. 
John  Vance  Cheney,  whose  own  lyrics  are  so  well 
known,  in  acceding  to  his  request  to  make  an 
English  metrical  version  of  those  in  "Immensee." 
While  these  have  also  been  translated  freely,  Mr. 
Cheney  has  retained  the  style  and  sentiment  of  the 
original,  and  has  invested  them  with  an  added 
poetical  charm  of  his  own. 

G.  P.  U. 
CHICAGO,  1907. 


THEODORE  STORM 


AN  APPRECIATION 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 


THEODORE  STORM 


AN  APPRECIATION 


DEEP  vein  of  poetry, 
romance,  and  sentiment 
runs  through  the  liter- 
ature of  the  German 
people  from  the  earliest 
period  of  its  history. 
Tacitus  observed  it 
among  the  ancient  Teu- 
tons. The  origin  of  the  Nibelungen  Lied  is 
almost  prehistoric.  The  poetical  romancers  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  sang  of  the  deeds 
of  Charlemagne  and  the  Knights  of  the  Round 
Table,  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Holy  Grail  and  the 


IMMENSEE 

passions  of  Tristram  and  Iseult.  The  Minnesingers 
and  Mastersingers  of  the  same  period  were  inspired 
by  love  and  beauty  and  the  joy  of  life,  as  Wagner 
has  shown  in  the  "Prize  Song"  of  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide,  who  learned  his  music  from 
nature,  not  from  the  Tabulatur.  The  literature 
of  the  Reformation  period  was  mainly  religious 
and  philosophical.  Poetry  and  romance  did  not 
flourish  luxuriantly  in  such  hard  soil.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  time  of  decadence  and  servile  imitation  of 
French  art.  Frederick  the  Great,  however,  gave 
German  literature  a  fresh  impulse,  though  for  a 
time  he  too  was  under  the  influence  of  Voltaire 
and  tried  to  transplant  Versailles  into  the  sturdy 
German  land.  Soon  came  a  series  of  great  names 
—  Lessing,  Winckelmann,  Klopstock,  Wieland, 
Herder,  Goethe,  Schiller,  the  writers  of  the 
"Sturm  und  Drang"  period,  followed  by  Tieck, 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

Hoffman,  Fouque  (with  his  lovely  "Undine"), 
Von  Kleist,  Riickert,  Uhland,  Heine,  Freytag, 
Spielhagen,  Heyse,  Freiligrath,  Anastasius  Griin, 
and  many  writers  of  short  stories  of  sentiment. 
Among  those  of  our  own  day,  or  of  the  last  gen- 
eration, Max  Miiller,  the  author  of  "  Deutsche 
Liebe,"  which  the  present  translator  has  also  ren- 
dered into  English  under  the  title  of  "Memories,"* 
and  Theodore  Storm,  whose  "Immensee"  is  a 
beautiful  example  of  German  lyric  sentiment, 
stand  out  conspicuously. 

Theodore  Storm  was  born  September  14,  1817, 
at  Husum,  a  seaport  in  the  Duchy  of  Schleswig- 
Holstein.  Though  his  literary  ability  manifested 
itself  at  a  very  early  age  in  the  production  of 
poems  and  short  stories  of  sentiment,  he  gave  him- 
self to  the  study  of  jurisprudence,  first  at  the 

*  Published,  in  various  editions,  by  A.  C.  McCLURG  &  Co. 


IMMENSEE 

University  of  Kiel,  and  later  at  Berlin.  He  prac- 
tised his  profession  in  Husum  for  ten  years,  but 
lost  his  license  because  of  his  active  participation 
in  the  revolt  of  Schleswig-Holstein  against  Den- 
mark, in  1850.  Three  years  later,  he  entered  the 
Prussian  civil  service,  but  after  the  annexation  of 
the  Duchy  to  Prussia,  returned  to  Husum,  where 
he  occupied  many  civil  positions.  During  all 
these  years,  however,  he  was  engaged  in  literary 
work,  and  "  Immensee,"  one  of  his  earliest  and 
most  beautiful  lyrical  romances,  appeared  before  he 
entered  the  Prussian  civil  service.  He  retired  from 
public  life,  in  1880,  to  his  country  seat  at  Anderau, 
near  Hademarschen,  in  Holstein,  where  he  died, 
July  4,  1888. 

Considering  the  demands  made  upon  his  time 
by  his  profession  and  public  duties,  Storm  was  a 
prolific  writer.  A  complete  catalogue  of  his  works 


IMMENSEE 

comprises  fifty-six  publications,  some  of  which  are 
volumes  of  short  stories,  plays,  or  poems.  One 
of  the  earliest  of  these  is  a  volume  of  poems, 
entitled  "Liederbuch  dreier  Freunde,"  which 
appeared  in  1843.  The  other  two  friends  are 
Tycho  Mommsen  and  Theodore  Mommsen,  the 
latter  the  celebrated  German  historian.  Theodore 
Mommsen  was  born  in  Schleswig,  the  same  year 
as  Storm.  They  studied  law  together  at  Kiel,  and 
Mommsen,  like  Storm,  was  dispossessed  of  his 
rights  as  a  practitioner  because  of  his  participation 
in  the  political  disturbances  of  1848-  49. 

Among  the  numerous  works  of  Storm,  the 
following  have  attained  wide  popularity:  "  Im- 
mensee,"  "Ein  Bekenntniss,"  "  Ein  Grunesblatt," 
"  Carsten  Curatore,"  "Ein  Doppelganger,"  "  Der 
Herr  Staatsrat,"  "In  St.  Jurgen,"  "Es  waren  zwei 
Konigskinder,"  "Bei  kleinen  Leuten,"  "Ein  stiller 


IMMENSEE 

Musikant,"  "Renato,"  "Der  Schimmel-breiter," 
"Im  Schloss,"  "Angelica,"  "Maien-Katzlein," 
"Veronica,"  "Spaten  Rosen,"  and  "Ein  Maler- 
arbeit."  Of  all  these,  none  has  attained  the 
popularity  of  "Immensee."  It  was  written  by 
Storm  in  the  very  prime  of  his  life  and  ability, 
and  at  a  time  when  his  mind  must  have  been 
preoccupied  with  political  distractions  and  onerous 
civil  duties,  but  to-day  it  retains  unimpaired  its 
beauty  and  freshness  of  sentiment,  as  well  as  the 
astonishing  popularity  of  fifty- five  years  ago.  The 
latest  edition  (Berlin,  1906)  is  the  sixty-second. 
He  had  written  other  short  stories  and  some  poems 
previously  to  "Immensee,"  but  the  story  of  Rein- 
hardt  and  Elizabeth  is  the  one  which  first  estab- 
lished his  reputation  as  a  lyric  artist,  and  it  is  the 
one  by  which  he  will  be  longest  remembered. 
The  critics  do  not  assign  it  equal  importance  with 


IMMENSEE 

some  of  his  more  mature  and  sustained  works,  but 
it  is  best  beloved  by  the  German  people. 

The  motive  of  "Immensee"  is  a  vision  of  lost 
youth,  and  its  symbol  is  a  water  lily,  inevitably 
recalling  the  old  song,  "Thou  art  so  Near  and  yet 
so  Far."  "Immensee,"  set  to  music,  might  have 
been  the  theme  of  Lumbye's  "Vision  in  a  Dream," 
or  Schumann's  "Traumerei."  It  is  a  love  story, 
written  without  passion  or  ecstasies  or  demonstra- 
tion of  any  kind.  It  is  as  pure,  delicate,  and 
graceful  as  the  water  lily,  its  symbol.  In  one  of 
his  letters,  Storm  says:  "I  am  of  a  strong,  passion- 
ate nature.  The  restraint  to  my  writing,  which 
is  not  so  noticeable  in  the  poems,  is  largely  due  to 
the  absolute  necessity  of  checking  my  impulses 
towards  extravagance  of  expression.  You  will 
scarcely  ever  find  the  word  'love'  or  'kiss'  in  my 
stories."  This  is  true  of  "  Immensee,"  and  yet  it 


IMMENSEE 

is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  more  beautiful,  pathetic, 
and  well  nigh  tragical  story  of  a  hopeless  love, 
lost  in  youth,  its  memory  freshly  enduring  to  old 
age.  In  another  letter  he  gives  us  a  hint  which 
helps  to  explain  the  "restraint"  and  the  delicate 
beauty  of  "  Immensee."  He  says:  "  In  my  prose 
I  rest  from  the  excitements  of  the  day,  finding  in 
it  the  quiet,  green  seclusion  of  summer."  "Im- 
mensee" is  a  prose  idyl.  Its  theme  is  the  old, 
old  human  story  of  lost  youth  and  lost  love,  told 
with  infinite  tenderness  and  sweetness,  with  not  a 
thought  or  suggestion  that  defiles  its  pages,  not  a 
word  one  could  wish  stricken  out.  And  the  story 
is  told  so  naturally  one  can  hardly  believe  it  is  not 
an  episode  in  his  own  life.  In  1846  Storm  mar- 
ried his  first  wife,  Constance  Esmarch,  a  very 
beautiful  and  gifted  lady.  She  had  an  excellent 
alto  voice  and  her  husband  a  fine  tenor  voice,  and 


IMMENSEE 

the  two  often  sang  Schubert's,  Schumann's,  and 
Mendelssohn's  songs  together.  Did  not  Elizabeth's 
alto  and  Reinhardt's  tenor  also  blend  in  the  folk 
songs  at  Immensee?  Storm  gave  to  Constance  one 
of  his  earliest  books,  "  Sommergeschichten  und 
Liebe,"  many  of  the  sketches  in  which  were  in- 
spired by  her.  Did  not  Reinhardt  give  Elizabeth 
also  a  little  volume  of  favorite  stories  which  he 
had  told  her  in  the  sod  house  summer  afternoons 
and  by  the  home  fire  in  the  winter  evenings? 
This,  however,  may  be  only  a  fancy.  It  is  enough 
that  we  have  in  "Immensee"  the  story  of  the  lost 
love  of  Elizabeth  and  Reinhardt,  told  with  exqui- 
site grace,  of  a  pathetic  episode  in  the  life  of  the 
gipsy  zither  girl,  who  appears  only  twice  in  these 
pages  and  yet  leaves  such  a  distinct  impression ;  of 
the  homely  lines  of  commonplace  Erich  who  drew 
the  "great  prize"  Reinhardt  lost,  and  the  mother 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

who,  perhaps  unconsciously,  wrought  such  sadness 
in  two  lives  while  she  sat  spinning ;  of  a  woman's 
love  infinitely  piteous  and  of  a  man's  love  greatly 
noble  after  all;  of  the  compensation  of  study;  of 
the  beauty  of  pine  thickets,  beech  woods,  and  the 
heather,  and  the  loveliness  of  Immensee,  the  far 
blue  mountains,  and  the  water  lily  which  Rein- 
hardt  vainly  strove  to  pluck;  of  the  old  man's 
vision  in  a  dream  of  tender  beauty,  tinged  with 
unutterable  sadness.  It  is  a  love  poem,  but  the 
violins  are  muted. 

Many  of  Theodore  Storm's  stories  partake  of 
the  general  characteristics  of  "Immensee."  He 
was  greatly  inspired  by  "Faust,"  Heine's  tender 
lyrics,  those  in  which  the  poet  forgot  his  cyn- 
icism, like  the  "Pine  and  Palm,"  the  "Lorelei," 
and  "Thou  art  like  unto  a  Flower,"  and  by 
Fouque's  "Undine"  and  Uhland's  lyrics.  They 


IMMENSEE 

are  not  studio  canvasses,  labored  over,  but  ara- 
besques, aquarelles,  and  pastelles,  daintily  sketched 
and  delicately  tinted  in  enduring  colors  because 
they  came  from  the  heart.  His  works  arc  not  like 
flashes  of  meteor  flights,  but  the  calm  effulgence 
of  the  enduring  stars.  His  art  is  essentially  lyric. 
His  sentiment  is  poetic  and  pure.  His  highest 
success  lies  in  the  delineation  of  the  graces  of  ten- 
derness in  human  nature.  His  work  tends  to 
make  life  better,  nobler,  and  purer. 

G.  P.  U. 


I 
THE  OLD  MAN'S  VISION 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 


I 

THE  OLD  MAN'S  VISION 

LOVELY  Autumn 
afternoon  was  drawing 
to  its  close  as  an  old 
man,  plainly  but  neatly 
dressed,  slowly  passed 
along  the  village  street. 
He  was  evidently  re- 
turning from  a  long 
walk,  for  his  quaint,  old-fashioned  buckled  shoes 
were  dusty,  and  he  leaned  wearily  upon  his  stout, 
gold-headed  cane.  His  piercing  black  eyes,  still 
lustrous  with  the  fire  of  lost  youth,  strikingly  con- 
trasted with  the  snowy  whiteness  of  his  hair,  but 
their  serene  expression  indicated  little  interest  in 


IMMENSEE 

the  scenes  around  him.  Apparently  he  was  a 
stranger;  at  least  few  of  those  whom  he  met 
greeted  him,  though  many,  attracted  by  the  irre- 
sistible fascination  of  those  strange  eyes,  turned  to 
look  after  him. 

The  old  man  at  last  stopped  before  a  high- 
gabled  house,  looked  around  a  moment,  and  then 
rang  the  bell.  Hardly  had  its  sound  ceased  when 
the  green  curtain  hanging  at  the  little  porch 
window  was  drawn  aside  and  an  elderly  woman 
peered  out.  He  motioned  with  his  cane  and  as 
she  opened  the  door,  said  to  her,  with  a  slightly 
Southern  accent,  "  No  light  yet ! "  He  slowly 
passed  down  the  hallway  to  an  ante-room,  against 
the  walls  of  which  stood  heavy  oaken  cabinets 
filled  with  oriental  vases  and  rare  porcelains.  The 
door  opened  upon  a  small  corridor,  whence  a  nar- 
row staircase  led  to  a  back  chamber.  He  wearily 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

climbed  the  stairs,  unlocked  the  door,  and  entered 
his  own  cosy,  retired  apartment.  One  wall  was 
almost  entirely  given  up  to  shelves  and  book- 
cases, and  another  was  covered  with  portraits  and 
landscapes.  A  large  easy  chair,  upholstered  in  red 
silk,  stood  by  a  green -covered  table,  on  which 
several  open  books  were  lying.  After  placing  his 
hat  and  cane  in  the  corner,  the  old  man  dropped 
into  his  chair,  folded  his  arms,  and  prepared  to 
enjoy  a  grateful  rest  after  his  fatiguing  walk.  As 
the  dark  gradually  came  on,  a  ray  of  moonlight 
streamed  through  the  window  panes,  bathing  the 
room  in  its  soft  glow.  As  it  crept  slowly  along 
the  wall,  the  old  man's  gaze  involuntarily  followed 
it.  At  last  it  reached  a  little  portrait  in  a  simple 
black  frame  and  irradiated  the  face.  He  rose  and 
went  to  the  picture. 

"Elizabeth,"  he  gently  murmured. 


IMMENSEE 

At  the  sound  of  that  beloved  name,  the  spell 
of  its  magic  brought  back  the  memories  of  old 
days  and  — 

He  was  a  child  again. 


II 
ELIZABETH  AND  REINHARDT 


I  M  M  E  N  S  E  E 


II 

ELIZABETH  AND  REINHARDT 

GRACEFUL  little 
maiden,  named  Eliza- 
beth, was  again  by  his 
side.  She  was  five  years 
of  age,  perhaps,  and  he 
was  nearly  twice  as  old. 
She  wore  around  her 
neck  a  red  silk  kerchief, 

which  served  to  heighten  the  charm  of  her  ruddy, 

blithesome  face. 

"  Reinhardt,"    she    cried    exultantly,    "school 

will  not  keep  to-day  or  to-morrow.     We  are  free 

two    whole    days.     What  a  good    time    we    can 

have!" 


IMMENSEE 

Reinhardt,  on  hearing  the  welcome  news,  in- 
stantly laid  the  slate  which  he  was  carrying  under 
his  arm  down  behind  the  door,  and  off  the  two 
children  scampered  through  the  house  to  the 
garden  at  the  back  and  out  through  the  garden 
gate  to  the  meadow  beyond.  The  unexpected 
holiday  gave  Reinhardt  the  very  opportunity  for 
which  he  had  been  longing,  for,  with  Elizabeth's 
assistance,  he  had  made  a  sod  house  in  which  they 
had  planned  to  spend  their  summer  evenings.  The 
only  thing  needed  to  carry  out  their  purpose  was  a 
bench.  As  hammer,  nails,  and  saw  were  all  in 
readiness,  he  began  the  work  at  once.  Elizabeth, 
in  the  meantime,  was  busily  engaged  filling  her 
apron  with  the  round  seeds  of  wild  mallows,  which 
she  gathered  by  the  side  of  the  wall  and  with 
which  she  often  made  chains  and  necklaces. 
Though  he  drove  the  nails  awkwardly  and  they 


I  M  M  E  NS  E  E 

gave  him  much  trouble,  the  bench  was  speedily 
finished,  and  Reinhardt  stepped  out  into  the  sun- 
shine to  call  Elizabeth,  who  was  by  this  time  at 
the  farther  side  of  the  meadow. 

"  Elizabeth  !  Elizabeth  !  "  he  shouted,  as  loudly 
as  he  could.  She  heard  his  call  and  at  once  ran 
toward  him,  her  curls  flying  in  the  breeze. 
"Hurry  up/'  said  he,  "the  house  is  now  all  ready." 
And  as  she  came  up  to  him,  he  added,  "You  are 
very  warm.  Come  in  and  try  our  new  bench, 
and  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

They  entered  hand  in  hand  and  seated  them- 
selves. Elizabeth  took  the  little  seeds  from  her 
apron  and  commenced  stringing  them  on  a  long 
thread  as  Reinhardt  began : 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  three  spin- 
sters— " 

"Oh,  dear!"  interrupted  Elizabeth,  "I  know 


I M  MEN  S  RE 

that  story  by  heart  already.  You  should  not  al- 
ways tell  me  the  same  one." 

Reinhardt  did  not  continue  the  tale  of  the 
three  spinsters,  but  told  instead  the  story  of  the 
poor  man  who  was  thrown  into  the  lions'  den. 
"It  was  night,  do  you  know,"  he  said;  "all  dark, 
and  the  lions  were  asleep,  though  they  would 
yawn  now  and  then  and  run  out  their  red  tongues 
and  show  their  cruel  teeth.  The  poor  man  shud- 
dered as  he  watched  them  and  longed  for  the 
morning  to  come.  Suddenly  a  great  light  shone 
round  about  him  and  an  angel  appeared  before 
him  and  beckoned  him  to  follow  her  as  she  van- 
ished among  the  rocks." 

Elizabeth  listened  with  eager  attention.  "An 
angel?"  said  she.  "Did  it  have  wings?" 

"Oh,  this  is  only  a  story  angel,"  said  Rein- 
hardt; "there  are  no  real  angels." 


I  M  MEN  SEE 

"O  Reinhardt,  how  can  you  say  that?"  she 
replied,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  But  when 
she  saw  that  he  was  displeased  and  that  a  frown  was 
gathering  on  his  brow,  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  If 
there  are  no  angels,  then  why  do  mother  and  aunt 
and  every  one  at  school  speak  of  them  so  often  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  Reinhardt  replied. 

"And  are  there  no  real  lions  either?"  asked 
Elizabeth. 

"Lions?  Of  course,  there  are  lions,"  replied 
Reinhardt.  "The  heathen  priests  in  India  harness 
them  to  their  carts  and  drive  them  over  the  desert. 
I  am  going  to  that  country  some  day,  after  I  have 
grown  up.  It  is  a  thousand  times  nicer  than  it  is 
here,  for  they  don't  have  any  winter.  And  you 
must  go  with  me  too,  Elizabeth.  Will  you?" 

"  I  will  go  if  my  mother  and  your  mother  will 
go  with  us,"  said  Elizabeth. 


IMMENSEE 

"No,  no,"  said  Reinhardt,  "they  will  be  too 
old  to  go,  then,  you  know." 

"  But  my  mother  will  never  let  me  go  alone 
to  that  far-away  country,"  replied  Elizabeth. 

"  Oh,  that  makes  no  difference,"  said  Rein- 
hardt. "  It  is  your  duty  to  go.  And  when  we 
get  there  you  will  be  my  real  wife,  and  no  one  can 
order  us  about.  We  can  do  just  as  we  please." 

"But  my  mother  will  cry,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Oh,  never  mind  that,  we  can  come  back 
again  now  and  then,"  replied  Reinhardt,  with 
great  earnestness.  "Tell  me  right  off,  will  you  go 
with  me?  If  you  say  'No,'  I  shall  go  alone,  and 
then  I  shall  never  come  home  again." 

The  little  maiden  could  hardly  keep  back  her 
tears.  "  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Reinhardt,  do 
not  be  bad  to  me.  I  will  go  to  India  with  you." 

Reinhardt  was  almost  overcome  with  joy.    He 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

took  Elizabeth  by  the  hand,  and  off  the  happy 
children  ran  across  the  meadow.  "To  India,  to 
India,"  he  cheerily  shouted,  at  the  same  time 
dragging  Elizabeth  along  with  him  at  such  a  pace 
that  her  kerchief  flew  off.  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
and  said  to  her  with  the  utmost  seriousness:  "Oh, 
it's  no  use,  Elizabeth,  to  think  of  your  going  to 
India.  You  have  not  courage  enough.  You  are 
only  a  girl." 

Before  she  could  reply,  some  one  at  the  gar- 
den gate  called,  "Elizabeth!  Reinhardt!" 

"  Here  we  are,  here  we  are,"  the  children  an- 
swered, as  they  ran  back  to  the  house,  hand  in 
hand. 


Ill 
A  DAY  IN  THE  WOODS 


I  M  ME  NS  EE 


III 

A  DAY  IN  THE  WOODS 

T  was  thus  the  children 
passed  their  time  when 
they  were  together. 
Elizabeth  was  sometimes 
too  quiet  to  suit  Rein- 
hardt,  and  Reinhardt 
was  often  too  boisterous 
to  please  Elizabeth,  and 


yet  they  were  inseparable  companions.  Nearly  all 
their  leisure  hours  in  winter  were  spent  playing 
together  in  the  cosy  home  rooms,  and  in  summer 
roaming  the  fields.  One  day  when  Elizabeth  was 
reproved  by  her  teacher  before  Reinhardt  he  pur- 
posely slammed  his  slate  down  on  his  desk,  hoping 


I  M  M  E  N  S  E  E 

thereby  to  divert  the  teacher's  displeasure  to  him- 
self. His  good  intentions,  however,  were  of  no 
avail.  Thereupon  Reinhardt  suddenly  lost  all 
interest  in  his  geography  lessons.  Instead  of  study- 
ing them,  he  wrote  a  long  poem  in  which  he 
described  himself  as  a  young  eagle,  the  school- 
master as  an  old  crow,  and  Elizabeth  as  a  white 
dove.  He  also  pictured  the  eagle  as  determined 
to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the  dove  by  swooping 
down  and  pouncing  on  the  crow  as  soon  as  its 
wings  were  strong  enough.  Tears  came  into  the 
young  poet's  eyes  as  he  contemplated  his  thrilling 
epic.  When  he  reached  home  he  made  a  little 
album  and  carefully  inscribed  his  first  poem  on  the 
opening  page.  Not  long  after  this  occurrence 
Reinhardt  went  to  another  school,  where  he  found 
many  new  comrades  among  boys  of  his  own  age, 
but  his  attachment  for  Elizabeth  remained  as 


IMMENSEE 

strong  as  ever.  He  now  began  writing  the  favor- 
ite stories  he  had  told  Elizabeth  so  many  times. 
Many  a  time  the  longing  to  weave  some  of  his 
own  fancies  into  these  stories  possessed  him,  but 
somehow  he  failed  every  time  he  attempted  it. 
He  could  write  only  what  she  had  heard  so  often. 
When  finished  he  gave  the  manuscript  to  her  and 
she  carefully  preserved  it  in  a  drawer  of  her  little 
cabinet.  Nothing  gave  Reinhardt  greater  delight 
and  satisfaction  than  to  listen  to  Elizabeth  when 
she  occasionally  read  these  stories  in  the  evening 
to  her  mother. 

Seven  years  passed  rapidly  away  and  the  time 
had  come  for  Reinhardt  to  leave  home  and  seek 
his  higher  education.  Elizabeth  could  hardly 
realize  that  she  and  Reinhardt  must  separate,  but 
she  was  greatly  comforted  when  he  told  her  that 
he  should  still  write  stories  for  her,  as  he  had  been 


IMMENSEE 

doing,  and  that  he  would  enclose  them  in  his 
letters  to  his  mother.  He  also  asked  her  to  write 
to  him  and  tell  him  how  she  liked  them.  Before 
he  left  he  wrote  a  little  verse  in  the  book.  He 
kept  it  a  secret  from  Elizabeth,  although  she  was 
the  original  inspiration  of  the  book,  now  half 
filled  with  poems,  nearly  all  devoted  to  her. 

On  a  lovely  June  morning,  the  last  before  his 
leave-taking,  their  friends  arranged  a  picnic  in  the 
woods  not  far  away,  so  that  they  might  enjoy  one 
more  holiday  together.  After  riding  to  the  edge 
of  the  forest  the  little  party  walked  the  rest  of  the 
way,  carrying  their  lunch  baskets.  The  road  led 
for  a  time  through  a  cool  and  shady  grove  of 
pines,  carpeted  with  fragrant  needles.  After  a 
half-hour's  walk  they  emerged  from  the  sombre 
pine  recesses  into  a  brighter  and  more  cheerful 
spot,  musical  with  the  rustle  of  fresh  green  beech 


IMMENSEE 

leaves.  Here  and  there  sunbeams  streamed  through 
the  branches,  checkering  the  grass  with  light  and 
shade,  and  chattering  squirrels  frisked  from  limb 
to  limb  above  them.  At  last  they  reached  a  place 
where  the  old  beeches  overspread  them  with  a 
canopy  of  verdure.  Elizabeth's  mother  opened 
the  baskets,  and  an  old  man  appointed  himself 
master  of  ceremonies.  "  Come  here,  all  you  young 
birds,"  he  called,  "and  pay  strict  attention  to  what 
I  am  going  to  say.  Each  one  of  you  can  have 
two  dry  rolls  for  lunch.  As  the  butter  has  been 
left  at  home,  you  will  have  to  find  something  else 
to  go  with  the  bread.  They  say  there  are  plenty 
of  strawberries  in  these  woods,  if  you  only  know 
where  to  find  them.  Those  who  do  not  will  have 
to  get  along  with  dry  bread.  That  is  always  the 
way  in  life,  you  know.  Now  do  you  understand 
what  I  have  been  telling  you?" 


IMMENSEE 

"Oh,  yes,  perfectly,"  shouted  the  children,  as 
they  started  off. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  am 
not  through  yet.  We  old  people  have  done 
enough  travelling  in  our  lives,  so  we  are  going  to 
stay  at  home,  as  you  might  say,  under  these  big 
trees.  We  shall  peel  the  potatoes,  kindle  the 
fire,  and  set  the  table,  and  at  twelve  o'clock  the 
eggs  will  be  boiled.  I  want  you  to  keep  half 
your  strawberries  for  us,  so  that  we  also  may  have 
some  dessert.  Now  be  off,  and  be  sure  to  divide 
fairly." 

The  children  made  all  sorts  of  roguish  faces 
at  him  and  started  again.  "Wait  a  minute,"  said 
the  old  man.  "Of  course,  those  who  don't  find 
berries  will  not  be  expected  to  furnish  any,  but, 
bear  this  in  mind,  they  will  get  none  from  us  old 
people.  Now,  I  think  you  have  had  instruction 


IMMENSEE 

enough  for  once,  and  if  you  get  some  strawberries 
also,  you  will  have  had  a  very  useful  and  enjoyable 
day." 

The  children  evidently  were  of  the  same 
mind,  and  scampered  away  in  couples. 

"Come  on,  Elizabeth,"  said  Reinhardt.  "I 
know  where  there  is  a  strawberry  patch.  We  will 
have  something  besides  dry  bread." 

Elizabeth  tied  the  green  ribbons  of  her  straw 
hat  together,  and,  hanging  it  upon  her  arm,  said, 
"Come  on,  Reinhardt.  Here  is  our  basket." 
Deeper  and  deeper  they  went  into  the  woods 
through  shadowy  and  almost  impenetrable  places 
where  no  sound  was  heard  but  the  screaming  of 
invisible  falcons  far  above  the  tree  tops.  Again, 
they  made  their  way  through  thickets  so  dense 
that  Reinhardt  often  had  to  take  the  lead  and  help 
Elizabeth  struggle  through  by  breaking  the 


IMMENSEE 

interlacing  branches  and  holding  the  vines  aside. 
Suddenly  Reinhardt  heard  her  call  his  name  a 
little  distance  behind  him  and  turned  to  listen. 

"Reinhardt,"  she  implored,  "wait,  do  wait." 
He  could  not  see  her  at  first,  but  after  a  little, 
discovered  her  desperately  trying  to  force  her  way 
through  the  tangle  of  bushes.  Her  pretty  little 
head  was  just  visible  above  some  brakes.  He  went 
back  at  once  and  helped  her  to  reach  an  open 
spot,  where  blue  butterflies  were  fluttering  among 
the  wood  flowers.  Reinhardt  brushed  back  the 
moist  locks  from  her  forehead  and  suggested  that 
she  put  on  her  hat,  but  she  would  not  consent 
until  he  had  begged  her  to  do  so. 

"Where  are  the  strawberries  you  spoke  about?" 
said  Elizabeth,  after  recovering  her  breath. 

"They  used  to  grow  around  here,"  said  Rein- 
hardt;   "but  I  think  the  toads,  or  the  birds,  or 


I M  M  EN  S  RE 

perhaps  the  elves,  must  have  been  here  before  us." 

"Oh,  yes/'  said  Elizabeth,  "I  see  the  leaves  are 
here,  but  don't  let  us  talk  about  elves  in  this  place. 
Come  along,  Reinhardt,  I  am  not  tired  yet.  Let 
us  keep  on  looking  for  the  strawberries." 

They  soon  came  to  a  little  brook,  over  which 
Reinhardt  carried  Elizabeth,  and  shortly  emerged 
from  the  thicket  to  find  themselves  in  a  clear  spot 
in  the  woods.  "There  must  be  strawberries  here," 
said  Elizabeth,  "the  air  is  so  sweet."  They 
searched  the  place  over  and  over,  but  could  not 
find  any. 

"No,"  said  Reinhardt,  "you  smell  the  perfume 
of  the  heather."  Raspberry  and  holly  bushes 
grew  in  profusion  all  about  them,  and  a  strong 
scent  of  heather  filled  the  air. 

"It  is  so  lonesome  here,"  said  Elizabeth.  "I 
wonder  where  the  others  are." 


IMMENSEE 

Reinhardt,  who  had  not  thought  of  going 
back  yet,  stopped  and  said:  "Wait  a  minute. 
Which  way  is  the  wind?"  He  raised  his  hand, 
but  not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring. 

"Hark!"  said  Elizabeth.  "It  seems  as  if  I 
could  hear  some  one  talking  right  over  there. 
Call  once  in  that  direction." 

Using  his  hand  as  a  trumpet,  Reinhardt 
shouted,  as  loud  as  he  could,  "  Come  over  here ! " 

"Over  here,"  was  the  distinct  reply. 

"They  are  answering  us,"  said  Elizabeth, 
clapping  her  hands  in  delight. 

"Oh,  no,  it  is  only  the  echo." 

Elizabeth  clung  to  Reinhardt.  "I  am  afraid," 
she  said. 

"No,  no,  you  must  not  be  afraid.  It  is  nice 
and  safe  here.  Let  us  rest  in  the  shade  a  while. 
We  shall  soon  find  the  others." 


IMMENSEE 

Elizabeth  seated  herself  under  the  beech 
branches  and  listened  intently  in  every  direction. 
Reinhardt  sat  on  a  stump  a  little  distance  off  and 
quietly  watched  her.  The  heat  of  the  mid-day 
sun  was  intense.  The  air  was  full  of  the  hum  of 
myriads  of  blue  and  golden  insects,  and  they  fre- 
quently heard  the  tapping  of  woodpeckers  and 
the  sweet  songs  of  birds  deep  hidden  in  the  woods. 

Suddenly  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  "  Listen  !  Bells 
are  ringing." 

"  In  what  direction  ? " 

"  Behind  us.  Do  you  not  hear  them  ?  Why, 
it  must  be  noon." 

"  Then  the  town  is  back  of  us  and  if  we  keep 
straight  ahead,  we  shall  find  the  others." 

As  Elizabeth  was  very  tired,  they  gave  up 
searching  for  strawberries  and  began  their  return 
without  delay.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  before 


IMMENSEE 
they  heard  the  merry  laughter  of  their  friends, 
and  almost  at  the  same  instant  espied  a  white 
cloth  on  the  grass,  on  which  was  a  dish  heaped 
with  strawberries.  The  old  man,  with  a  napkin 
fastened  in  his  buttonhole,  was  giving  the  children 
another  instalment  of  moral  instruction,  while  he 
carved  the  meat. 

The  children  interrupted  his  discourse  when 
they  saw  Elizabeth  and  Reinhardt  coming  through 
the  trees,  with  the  shout,  "  Here  are  the  strag- 
glers." 

"  Come  on  !  "  called  the  old  man.  "  Empty 
your  handkerchief  and  hat  and  let  us  see  what  you 
have  found." 

"Only  hunger  and  thirst,"  said  Reinhardt. 

"If  that  be  all,"  replied  the  old  man,  as  he 
teased  them  with  the  sight  of  the  full  dish,  "you 
will  have  to  go  hungry  and  thirsty.  You  very 


IMMENSEE 

well  know  what  I  told  you.  We  cannot  feed 
idlers  here."  At  last,  however,  he  relented,  and 
allowed  them  to  eat  with  the  others.  And  the 
thrushes  sang  their  sweetest  and  most  blithesome 
strains  in  the  junipers  all  through  the  pleasant  repast. 
The  beautiful  June  day  passed  joyously,  and  at 
its  close  Reinhardt  realized  that  he  had  found 
something.  It  was  not  strawberries  nor  was  it 
anything  else  that  grows  in  the  woods.  These 
verses,  which  he  wrote  in  their  book  that  night 
tell  what  he  had  found: 

Where,  on  the  warm  hillside, 

Is  not  a  pulse  of  air 
Among  the  summer  boughs, 

A  maid  is  dreaming  there. 

Never  to  any  place 

Did  sweeter  odors  come ; 
Gay  insects  glitter  round, 

And  drowsily  they  hum. 


I M  MEN  SEE 

The  thing  the  still  wood  says 

To  the  dear  maid  is  said ; 
The  sun  is  spilling  gold 

Upon  her  little  head. 

A  wood  elf  whispers  me, 

The  cuckoo  calls  between: 
I  looked  her  in  the  eyes — 

She  is  the  Sylvan  Queen! 

Yes,  Reinhardt  had  found  something.  He  had 
found  that  Elizabeth  was  not  only  his  playmate 
and  companion,  but  also  the  ideal  of  everything 
lovely  and  of  every  sweet  mystery  in  the  morning 
of  his  life. 


IV 

CHRISTMAS  TIDE 


IMMENSEE 


IV 

CHRISTMAS  TIDE      • 

HRISTMAS  was  ap- 
proaching. One  after- 
noon Reinhardt  and 
other  students,  as  was 
their  habit,  met  around 
the  old  oaken  table  in  the 
rathskeller.  The  wall 
lamps  were  lighted,  for  it 


was  already  beginning  to  grow  dark  in  the  room,  but 
customers  were  so  few  that  the  waiters  idly  lounged 
and  gossiped.  In  a  corner  alcove  sat  a  fiddler  and 
a  zither  girl,  the  latter  with  delicate  but  gipsy-like 
features.  They  were  holding  their  instruments  in 
their  laps  and  looking  listlessly  about  the  room. 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

As  the  champagne  corks  were  popping  at  the 
table,  a  jolly- looking  young  student  approached 
the  girl  and  offered  her  a  glass  of  wine,  saying : 
"  Drink,  my  pretty  little  Bohemian." 

"I  do  not  wish  to,"  she  replied,  with  an  air  of 
the  greatest  indifference. 

"Well,  sing  then,"  said  the  young  fellow,  as 
he  threw  some  silver  pieces  into  her  lap.  She 
slowly  ran  her  fingers  through  her  black  hair  as 
her  companion  whispered  something  in  her  ear, 
but  she  only  tossed  her  head,  and  leaned  her  chin 
upon  the  zither. 

"I  will  not  sing  for  that  man,"  she  said. 

Then  Reinhardt  rose  from  the  table  and  stood 
before  her,  glass  in  hand.  "  What  do  you  want  of 
me?"  she  fiercely  asked. 

"To  see  your  eyes,"  said  Reinhardt. 

"My  eyes  are  no  concern  of  yours,"  she  replied. 


IMMENSEE 

Reinhardt  gave  her  a  penetrating  glance  and 
answered :  "  I  know  well  enough  they  are  false." 

The  girl  rested  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  and 
closely  watched  him.  Raising  his  glass  to  his  lips, 
Reinhardt  said:  "I  drink  to  your  beautiful, 
wicked  eyes." 

With  a  scornful  laugh  she  turned  to  him  and 
said :  "  Give  me  your  glass."  Then,  fixing  her 
dark  eyes  full  upon  him,  she  drank  what  was  left, 
and  after  sounding  a  chord  upon  her  zither,  sang 

in  a  low,  passionate  voice : 

cT 

Look,  Love,  to-day, 

While  yet  my  face  is  fair; 

To-morrow,  Love, 

You  will  find  no  beauty  there. 

One  little  hour,  Love, 

All  our  own; 
Then  love  will  be  gone, 

And  I  alone. 


I  M  M  E  N  S  EE 

While  the  fiddler  was  playing  a  lively  cadenza 
to  her  song,  a  newcomer  joined  the  group  of  stu- 
dents. 

"I  called  for  you,  Reinhardt,"  he  said,  "but 
you  ran  away  too  soon.  The  Christ  Child  has 
been  making  you  a  visit." 

"The  Christ  Child  does  not  visit  me  any 
more,"  replied  Reinhardt. 

"Don't  say  that,"  said  his  friend.  "Your 
room  is  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  cakes  and  the 
Christmas  tree." 

Reinhardt  set  down  his  glass  and  took  his  cap. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  the  girl. 

"Oh,  I  shall  come  back  soon,"  said  he. 

A  frown  gathered  on  her  brow.  With  allur- 
ing glances  she  gently  implored  him  to  stay. 
Reinhardt  hesitated  an  instant,  but  at  last  replied, 
"I  cannot." 


IMMENSEE 

Pushing  him  away  from  her  contemptuously 
with  her  foot,  she  said:  "You  are  a  good-for- 
nothing.  You  are  all  a  worthless  pack."  As  she 
turned  from  him,  Reinhardt  reluctantly  climbed 
the  rathskeller  stairs  and  went  out  into  the  night. 

Twilight  had  deepened  into  dark.  The  brac- 
ing winter  air  cooled  his  heated  brow.  Here  and 
there  the  windows  reflected  the  bright  lights  of 
the  Christmas  trees,  and  occasionally  he  heard  the 
noise  of  little  tin  whistles  and  trumpets  and  the 
merry  shouts  of  children.  Troops  of  poor  chil- 
dren went  from  house  to  house,  soliciting  alms,  and 
some  of  them  clung  to  the  stair  rails  and  tried  to 
catch  glimpses  of  the  wondrous  sights  from  which 
they  were  shut  out,  only  to  be  scolded  and  driven 
away  by  the  servants.  In  some  places  they  sang 
old  carols  in  front  of  houses,  and  among  the 
singers  were  many  maidens  whose  fresh  young 


I  M  ME  NS  EE 

voices  lent  added  charm  to  the  music;  but  Rein- 
hardt  paid  little  heed  to  Christmas  cheer  or 
Christmas  music  as  he  hurried  along  from  one 
street  to  another.  When  he  reached  his  own 
house  he  found  it  dark.  He  ran  up  the  steps  and 
went  to  his  room.  As  he  opened  the  door  he  was 
greeted  by  a  sweet  fragrance,  which  reminded  him 
of  his  mother's  room  at  Christmas.  With  a  trem- 
bling hand  he  lit  the  lamp.  A  large  package  was 
lying  upon  the  table,  and  as  he  hurriedly  opened 
it,  behold  the  familiar  Christmas  cakes !  On  some 
of  them  his  initials  were  traced  in  sugar.  Surely 
no  one  but  Elizabeth  could  have  done  that.  He 
also  found  a  small  package  of  finely  embroid- 
ered linen  handkerchiefs,  and  cuffs,  and  letters 
from  his  mother  and  Elizabeth.  He  read  Eliz- 
abeth's letter  first.  She  wrote: 

"You  will  easily  recognize  by  the  sugar  letters 


I  M  ME  N  SEE 
who  helped  make  the  cakes.  The  same  one  em- 
broidered the  cuffs  for  you.  We  shall  have  a  very 
quiet  time  Christmas  Eve.  Mother  even  puts 
her  spinning-wheel  in  the  corner  at  half-past  nine. 
It  is  very  lonesome  this  winter  with  Reinhardt 
away.  The  poor  little  linnet  you  gave  me  died 
last  Sunday.  I  cried  bitterly,  and  yet  I  have 
always  taken  the  best  care  of  it.  It  nearly  always 
sung  in  the  afternoons  when  the  sun  shone  into 
its  cage.  Don't  you  remember  how  mother  used 
to  cover  it  over  with  a  cloth  when  the  linnet  sung 
too  loudly?  It  would  be  very  quiet  in  the  house 
if  your  old  friend  Erich  did  not  now  and  then 
make  us  a  call.  You  once  made  sport  of  Erich 
in  his  brown  overcoat.  I  always  think  of  it  when 
he  appears  at  the  door.  Is  it  not  funny?  But  I 
do  not  mention  it  to  mother,  she  is  so  easily 
vexed.  What  do  you  suppose  I  shall  send  your 


/  M  M  ENS  EE 

mother  for  a  Christmas  gift?  Myself.  Erich 
made  a  crayon  portrait  of  me.  I  had  to  sit  three 
times  for  him,  an  hour  each  time,  and  it  troubled 
me,  for  I  do  not  like  to  have  a  stranger  grow  so 
familiar  with  my  face;  but  my  mother  prevailed 
upon  me  to  sit.  She  said  my  picture  would  give 
good  Frau  Werner  great  pleasure. 

"Reinhardt,  you  have  not  kept  your  promise. 
You  have  not  sent  me  any  stories.  I  have  men- 
tioned it  several  times  to  your  mother,  but  she 
always  says  that  you  are  very  busy  now  and  have 
no  time  to  waste  upon  such  childish  things.  I 
cannot  believe  this.  I  think  there  must  be  some 
other  reason  for  it." 

After  reading  both  letters  Reinhardt  carefully 
folded  them  together  and  laid  them  away.  A 
feeling  of  homesickness  which  he  could  not  shake 
off  overcame  him.  He  paced  up  and  down  his 


I  M  ME  NS  EE 

room  for  a  long  time  in  gloomy  revery.     Once  he 
said  to  himself,  half  unconsciously: 

His  feet  were  in  the  dangerous  way, 

He  journeyed  in  the  night; 
A  child  reached  out  her  little  hand, 

And  led  him  to  the  light. 

Reinhardt  took  some  money  from  his  desk 
and  left  the  house  again.  The  streets  by  this  time 
were  very  quiet.  The  Christmas  candles  had 
burned  out,  and  the  processions  of  the  children 
had  ceased.  The  wind  swept  dismally  through 
the  deserted  streets,  and  old  and  young  were  sitting 
quietly  together  in  their  homes  as  usual.  The 
after  part  of  Christmas  was  commencing. 

As  Reinhardt  approached  the  rathskeller  he 
heard  the  scrape  of  the  fiddle  and  the  tinkle  of  the 
zither.  A  dark  figure  staggered  up  the  poorly 
lighted  steps.  He  stepped  back  into  the  shadow 


I  M  M  E  N  S  EE 

of  a  house  and  then  hurried  past  the  keller.  Not 
far  from  there  he  found  a  jeweller's  shop,  where 
he  purchased  a  little  coral  cross,  and  then  returned 
home  by  the  way  he  had  come. 

Near  the  house  he  observed  a  little  girl,  clad 
in  wretched  rags.  She  was  standing  at  the  door 
of  another  house,  trying  in  vain  to  open  it.  "  Let 
me  help  you,"  he  said  to  her.  The  child  made 
no  reply,  but  let  go  of  the  heavy  knob.  Reinhardt 
was  about  to  open  the  door  for  her,  but  he  sud- 
denly bethought  himself.  "No,  no,"  he  said  to 
the  child,  "they  will  only  drive  you  away.  Come 
with  me  and  I  will  give  you  some  Christmas 
cakes."  Thereupon  he  took  her  hand  and  led 
her  in  silent  surprise  to  his  home. 

He  had  left  his  light  burning  when  he  went 
out.  "  Here  are  some  cakes,"  he  said,  placing 
half  of  his  treasure  in  her  apron,  but  none  of 


I M  MEN  SEE 

those  which  had  the  sugar  letters  on  them.  "  Now 
go  home  and  give  your  mother  some  of  them 
too,"  he  said  to  the  child,  who  gave  him  a  half 
scared  look.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  kindness 
and  knew  not  how  to  make  reply.  Reinhardt 
opened  the  door  and  let  her  out.  The  little  one 
ran  down  the  steps,  tightly  holding  on  to  the 
cakes,  and  flew  homeward  like  a  bird. 

After  stirring  the  fire,  Reinhardt  placed  his 
dusty  ink-stand  upon  the  table.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  spent  the  live-long  night  writing  letters  to 
Elizabeth  and  his  mother.  The  remaining  Christ- 
mas cakes  lay  untouched  near  him,  but  he  had  put 
on  the  cuffs  Elizabeth  sent  him,  though  not  alto- 
gether suited  to  his  house  coat.  Thus  he  sat,  writ- 
ing and  thinking,  until  the  sun  lit  up  the  frosted 
window  panes  with  sparkling  glory.  But  Rein- 
hardt's  mirror  showed  only  a  sad  and  pallid  face. 


V 

CHANGES  AT  HOME 


/ M MEN SEE 


V 

CHANGES  AT  HOME 

EINHARDT  went  home 
at  Easter  and  called 
upon  Elizabeth  the 
morning  after  his  arrival. 
"  How  tall  you  have 
grown,"  he  said,  as  the 
slender,  beautiful  girl 
smilingly  came  forward 


to  greet  him.  She  blushed,  but  made  no  reply, 
as  she  gently  sought  to  withdraw  her  hand  from 
his.  There  was  a  certain  restraint  in  their  meet- 
ing which  they  had  never  felt  in  earlier  days.  It 
was  almost  as  conventional  as  the  meeting  of  two 
strangers,  nor  did  the  new  and  strange  feeling 


IMMENSEE 

disappear  as  time  passed.  It  was  manifest  when- 
ever Reinhardt  called.  When  alone  with  her  he 
made  a  great  effort  to  prevent  embarrassing  breaks 
in  conversation,  which  were  growing  painful  to 
him.  That  he  might  see  her  as  frequently  as 
possible  during  the  vacation,  he  commenced  giving 
her  lessons  in  botany,  a  study  to  which  he  had 
enthusiastically  devoted  himself  during  the  first 
months  of  his  university  life.  Elizabeth,  who 
greatly  valued  his  suggestions,  and  besides  was  very 
fond  of  botany,  took  up  the  work  with  alacrity. 
They  made  several  trips  to  the  meadows  and 
woods  during  the  week,  from  which  she  returned 
at  noon  with  the  herbarium  filled  with  leaves  and 
flowers,  Reinhardt  usually  returning  later  to  share 
his  specimens  with  her. 

One  afternoon    Reinhardt  entered  Elizabeth's 
room  as  she  was  standing  at  the  window  placing 


(ill  w  wa<  a  t  auary 


I  M  MEN  S  RE 

fresh  chickweed  in  a  gilt  cage  which  he  had  not 
seen  in  that  place  before.  A  canary  was  fluttering 
its  wings,  uttering  shrill  little  chirps,  and  pecking 
at  Elizabeth's  finger.  Reinhardt's  linnet  once 
occupied  the  same  cage.  "Has  my  poor  dead 
linnet  turned  into  a  goldfinch?"  he  asked,  with 
some  bitterness. 

"Linnets  never  change  like  that,"  said  Eliz- 
abeth's mother,  who  was  sitting  in  her  arm  chair 
spinning.  "Your  friend,  Erich,  sent  it  to  Elizabeth 
to-day  from  the  farm." 

"From  the  farm?     What  farm?" 

"Do  you  not  know?" 

"Know  what?" 

"That  Erich  began  the  management  of  his 
father's  other  farm  at  Immensee  a  month  ago?" 

"How  was  I  to  know?  You  sent  me  no 
word  about  it." 


I  M  M  E  N  S  EE 

"Why  should  I?  You  made  no  inquiries 
about  your  friend,  who  is  a  very  dear,  sensible 
young  man." 

The  mother  left  the  room  to  prepare  the 
coffee.  Elizabeth,  with  her  back  to  Reinhardt, 
was  busily  engaged  in  fixing  an  arbor.  "  Excuse 
me  just  a  little  while,"  said  she,  "  until  I  have 
finished  this  work."  As  Reinhardt  made  no  reply 
she  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise. 
There  was  a  troubled  expression  in  his  eyes  she 
had  not  observed  before.  "What  is  the  matter, 
Reinhardt,"  she  asked. 

"  Matter  with  me  ? "  he  replied  in  an  absent 
way,  his  eyes  resting  upon  hers  with  a  far-away 
look,  as  if  he  were  in  a  revery. 

"Yes,"  said  Elizabeth,  "you  seem  so  troubled." 

"Elizabeth,  I  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  that 
canary." 


IMMENSEE 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  and  as  if 
she  did  not  clearly  understand  him. 

"You  are  so  strange,"  was  all  she  said. 

Reinhardt  took  both  her  hands  and  she  suffered 
them  to  remain  quietly  in  his.  At  that  instant 
the  mother  came  in. 

After  the  coffee  the  mother  resumed  her  spin- 
ning. Reinhardt  and  Elizabeth  went  into  the  next 
room  to  arrange  their  specimens.  They  counted 
the  stamens,  spread  the  leaves  and  blossoms  out 
smoothly,  and  selected  two  specimens  of  each  kind 
which  were  to  be  pressed  between  the  leaves  of 
a  heavy  book.  It  was  a  quiet,  sunny  afternoon. 
The  mother's  spinning-wheel  hummed  in  the  ad- 
joining room  and  from  time  to  time  Reinhardt's 
voice  was  audible  as  he  told  Elizabeth  the  various 
classes  of  the  flowers,  or  corrected  her  mistakes 
in  the  pronunciation  of  their  Latin  names. 


IMMENSEE 

"  I  have  not  found  any  lilies  of  the  valley 
lately,"  said  she,  after  they  had  classified  and 
arranged  their  collection. 

Reinhardt  took  a  little  white  note -book  from 
his  pocket.  "Here  is  lily  of  the  valley  for  you," 
he  said,  taking  out  a  half- dried  spray. 

Noticing  that  there  was  writing  on  the  pages, 
Elizabeth  asked,  "  Have  you  written  any  more 
stories  ? " 

"There  are  no  stories  in  this  book,"  he  replied, 
handing  it  to  her.  It  was  nearly  rilled  with  verses. 
As  Elizabeth  turned  the  leaves  her  eye  caught  such 
titles  as  "When  she  was  scolded  by  the  teacher," 
"When  she  was  lost  in  the  woods,"  "Easter 
Romance,"  "When  she  wrote  me  for  the  first 
time."  Nearly  all  were  in  this  vein.  Reinhardt 
watched  her  closely  as  she  turned  page  after  page 
and  noticed  a  delicate  flush  overspread  her  face. 


I  M  M  EN  SEE 

He  tried  to  see  her  eyes,  but  Elizabeth  did  not 
raise  them  when  she  quietly  laid  down  the  book. 

"  Do  not  give  it  back  to  me  thus,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth  took  a  brown  sprig  from  her  tin 
case.  "I  will  put  your  favorite  flower  in  it,"  said 
she.  Then  she  handed  him  the  book. 


The  vacation  was  at  an  end  and  the  morn- 
ing of  departure  had  come.  Elizabeth's  mother 
yielded  to  her  request  and  permitted  her  to  ac- 
company her  friend  to  the  coach  office,  a  few 
squares  distant  from  the  house.  When  she  came 
to  the  door  Reinhardt  offered  his  arm  and  walked 
silently  by  her  side.  But  the  nearer  they  came  to 
their  destination,  the  more  ardently  he  longed 
to  communicate  something  of  great  importance  to 
her  before  taking  the  long  farewell, —  something 


I  M  M  E  N  S  EE 
upon  which  depends  all  the  worth  and  meaning 
and  joy  of  life;  but  he  could  not  find  fitting  words 
for  its  expression.  It  troubled  him,  and  he  invol- 
untarily slackened  his  pace. 

"I  fear  you  will  be  late,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"The  clock  of  St.  Mary's  has  already  struck  ten." 

Reinhardt  did  not  hasten  his  steps.  At  last  he 
stammered  out:  "Elizabeth,  you  will  not  see  me 
again  for  two  years.  Will  you  like  me  just  as 
well  when  I  come  back  as  you  do  now?" 

She  bent  her  head  in  assent  and  looked  at  him 
with  the  frank,  cordial  glance  of  a  friend.  "  I 
have  always  taken  your  part,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause. 

"  My  part !  Who  has  made  it  necessary  for 
you  to  take  my  part?"  said  he. 

"My  mother!"  said  she.  "We  talked  about 
you  for  a  long  time  after  you  left  last  evening. 


I  M  M  E  N  S  EE 

Mother  thinks  you  are  not  as  good  as  you  used 
to  be." 

Reinhardt  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
took  her  hand,  and,  looking  earnestly  into  her 
eyes,  said :  "  I  am  just  as  good  as  I  have  always 
been.  Do  you  not  believe  it,  Elizabeth?" 

"Yes,"  said  she.  He  let  go  her  hand  and 
they  quickened  their  pace  as  they  came  to  the  last 
street.  The  nearer  the  moment  of  parting  ap- 
proached the  more  agitated  Reinhardt  became. 
He  walked  so  fast  that  Elizabeth  could  hardly 
keep  up  with  him. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Reinhardt?"  said  she. 

"I  have  a  secret,  O,  a  precious  secret,"  he 
answered.  "When  I  come  back  two  years  from 
now  I  will  tell  it  to  you." 

At  last  they  reached  the  coach  office.  Rein- 
hardt once  more  took  her  hand.  "  Farewell, 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

farewell,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "do  not  forget." 
She  shook  her  head.  "Farewell"  was  all  she 
said.  Reinhardt  took  his  seat  in  the  coach  and  it 
started.  As  it  turned  the  corner  he  caught  a  last 
glimpse  of  the  dear  little  figure  slowly  going 
homeward. 


VI 

A  LETTER 


IMMENSEE 


VI 

A  LETTER 


BOUT  two  years  after 
this  time,  as  Reinhardt 
was  sitting  in  the  lamp- 
light among  his  books 
and  papers  awaiting  a 
friend  with  whom  he 
studied,  a  step  was  heard 
upon  the  stairs.  "Come 
in,"  he  called.  His  landlady  entered  with  the 
announcement,  "  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Herr 
Werner,"  and  then  withdrew. 

Reinhardt  had  not  written  to  Elizabeth  since 
his  return  nor  had  he  heard  from  her.  The  letter 
was  from  his  mother.  He  opened  it  and  read: 


/  M  M  EN  SEE 

"At  your  age,  my  dear  child,  every  year 
brings  many  changes,  for  the  resources  and  possi- 
bilities of  youth  are  boundless.  But  here  in  our 
quiet  homes,  where  changes  rarely  come,  there  has 
been  one  which,  I  fear,  will  give  you  pain,  if  I 
rightly  understand  your  feelings.  After  twice  de- 
clining Erich's  offer  of  marriage  in  the  last  three 
months,  Elizabeth  gave  her  consent  yesterday. 
She  could  not  come  to  a  decision  at  first,  but  she 
has  at  last  done  so.  She  is  still  very  young,  you 
know.  The  wedding  will  take  place  soon  and 
her  mother  will  go  with  them  to  the  new  home." 


VII 

IMMENSEE 


IMMENSEE 


VII 

IMMENSEE 


GAIN  the  years  have 
flown.  One  pleasant 
spring  afternoon  a  young 
man  with  a  strong,  sun- 
browned  face  was  fol- 
lowing the  downward 
windings  of  a  forest 
road.  His  serious  gray 
eyes  scanned  the  distance  as  if  he  were  looking  for 
some  object  marking  the  end  of  the  tedious  jour- 
ney, but  he  sought  in  vain.  Shortly,  a  wagon 
came  toiling  slowly  up  the  hilly  road.  "  Halloa, 
good  friend,"  cried  the  traveller  to  the  approaching 
countryman,  "is  this  the  right  road  to  Immensee?" 


IMMENSEE 

"Keep  straight  ahead,"  replied  the  man, 
touching  his  cap. 

"Is  it  very  far  there?" 

"No.  The  gentleman  is  very  near  to  it.  You 
will  be  at  the  lake  by  the  time  you  can  smoke 
half  a  pipe,  and  the  house  is  close  by  it." 

The  countryman  drove  on  and  the  traveller 
resumed  his  walk  under  the  trees.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  later  he  came  to  an  opening  on  his  left, 
and  the  road  led  down  to  a  more  level  spot,  clearly 
defined  by  the  tops  of  the  century- old  oaks. 
Beyond  it,  a  broad,  sunny  landscape  lay  outspread. 
Far  below  was  the  tranquil,  dark  blue  lake,  en- 
closed by  green,  sunlit  woods,  except  at  one  point, 
where  an  opening  lent  itself  to  a  distant  view, 
fading  away  to  the  blue  mountains.  In  the  oppo- 
site direction  fruit-trees,  profusely  decked  with 
snowy  white  blossoms,  offered  a  beautiful  contrast 


IMMENSEE 

to  the  dark-green  leafage  of  the  woods.  Still  far- 
ther on,  and  crowning  a  slope,  rose  a  white  house 
with  a  red- tiled  roof.  A  stork  flew  from  one  of 
the  chimneys  and  slowly  circled  over  the  lake. 

"Immensee!"  exclaimed  the  traveller. 

It  almost  seemed  to  him  he  had  reached  his 
journey's  end,  as  he  stopped  and  looked  over  the 
tree  tops  at  the  distant  shore  of  the  lake,  which 
clearly  mirrored  the  image  of  the  house  in  its 
gently  rippling  waters. 

His  road  now  led  down  a  somewhat  steep 
descent  beneath  the  old  oaks,  so  that  he  caught 
only  occasional  glimpses  of  the  beautiful  prospect. 
Shortly  there  was  a  gentle  rise  in  the  road,  the  old 
oaks  were  left  behind,  and  he  found  himself  in  the 
midst  of  extensive  and  luxuriant  vineyards  and 
blossoming  fruit-trees,  musical  with  the  hum  of 
innumerable  bees.  A  man  in  a  brown  overcoat 


/ M MEN SEE 

was  approaching  him  and  at  a  short  distance  away 
waved  his  cap  and  enthusiastically  shouted:  "Wel- 
come, welcome,  brother  Reinhardt — welcome  to 
Immensee." 

"  God's  greeting  to  you,  Erich,  and  many 
thanks  for  the  welcome,"  Reinhardt  replied. 

The  two  friends  met  and  cordially  shook 
hands.  "Is  it  really  you?"  said  Erich,  as  he 
scanned  the  serious  countenance  of  his  old  school 
comrade. 

"  Surely  it  is  I,  and  it  is  you  also,  Erich.  I  see 
no  change  except  that  you  seem  more  cheerful 
than  you  used  to  be,"  said  Reinhardt. 

Erich's  plain  face  was  irradiated  with  a  pleasant 
smile  at  these  words.  "Yes,  brother  Reinhardt," 
said  he,  stretching  out  his  hand,  "  I  have  drawn  a 
great  prize  since  those  days.  But,  of  course,  you 
know  all  about  it."  Then  he  clapped  his  hands 


IMMENSEE 

and  added  with  great  glee:  "This  is  a  surprise. 
It  is  the  last  thing  in  the  world  she  expects." 

"A  surprise?"  said  Reinhardt.     "For  whom?" 

"  For  Elizabeth,"  answered  Erich. 

"  Elizabeth !  Did  you  not  tell  her  I  was 
coming?"  said  Reinhardt. 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  about  it,  brother 
Reinhardt,"  replied  Erich.  "Neither  Elizabeth 
nor  her  mother  is  expecting  you.  I  invited  you 
without  their  knowledge,  so  that  Elizabeth's  pleas- 
ure should  be  all  the  greater.  You  know,  Rein- 
hardt, I  was  always  fond  of  mysterious  little 
surprises." 

Reinhardt  grew  more  and  more  thoughtful  as 
they  approached  the  house,  and  at  last  it  seemed 
hard  for  him  even  to  breathe.  The  vineyards  on 
their  left  soon  gave  place  to  a  large  kitchen  gar- 
den, which  stretched  almost  down  to  the  lake. 


IMMENSEE 

The  stork,  which  had  flown  up  from  the  water, 
was  walking  among  the  rows  of  vegetables  in  a  dig- 
nified manner.  "  Halloa,  there  !  "  shouted  Erich, 
as  he  clapped  his  hands.  "That  long-legged 
Egyptian  thief  is  stealing  my  pea-stakes  again." 
The  stork  slowly  rose  and  flew  to  the  roof  of  a 
building  at  the  end  of  the  kitchen  garden,  against 
the  walls  of  which  pear  and  apricot  trees  were 
trained.  "That  building  is  the  winery,"  said 
Erich.  "  I  built  it  about  two  years  ago.  My 
father  remodeled  the  farm  buildings,  and  my 
grandfather  built  our  house.  The  buildings  have 
been  finished  little  by  little,  just  as  we  all  get  on." 
They  had  come  by  this  time  to  a  large  open 
spot,  partly  surrounded  by  the  farm  buildings,  with 
the  house  in  the  rear,  the  wings  of  which  were 
enclosed  by  garden  walls.  Rows  of  dark  yew  trees 
were  visible,  and  here  and  there  lilacs  in  full  bloom 


IMMENSEE 

showed  their  purple  heads  above  the  walls  and 
filled  the  air  with  their  fragrance.  Sun -browned 
laborers  passed  them,  to  some  of  whom  Erich 
gave  orders,  questioning  others  about  the  progress 
of  the  day's  work.  At  last  they  reached  the  house. 
They  passed  along  a  high,  cool  porch  and  at  the 
end  of  it  turned  to  the  left  into  a  somewhat  dark 
passage.  Erich  opened  a  door  leading  into  a  spa- 
cious apartment  which  overlooked  the  garden, 
though  the  view  was  somewhat  obscured  by  the 
heavy  foliage  near  the  windows.  The  tall,  wide- 
opened  folding  doors,  however,  made  up  for  this, 
for  they  let  in  the  full  brightness  of  the  spring  sun- 
shine. It  also  afforded  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
garden,  with  its  round  flower  beds  and  high  hedges. 
A  straight,  broad  walk  ran  through  it,  from 
which  the  distant  lake  and  woods  were  visible. 
As  the  two  friends  entered  the  garden  the  air 


IMMENSEE 

was  heavy  with  perfume.  A  girlish  figure  in 
white  was  sitting  upon  the  terrace  near  the  gate. 
She  arose  and  advanced  to  meet  them,  but  sud- 
denly stopped  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  Reinhardt,  who  was  holding  out  his 
hand  to  her.  "Reinhardt!  Reinhardt!"  she  ex- 
claimed, "is  it  you?  How  long  it  has  been  since 
we  have  seen  you!  " 

"Not  so  very  long,"  he  answered.  Then  he 
was  silent,  for  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  felt  a 
pang  at  his  heart,  and  at  the  sight  of  her  slender 
figure  he  remembered  it  was  she  to  whom  he  had 
said  "farewell"  years  before  when  he  left  home. 

Erich  was  standing  behind  them,  near  the 
gate,  his  face  radiant  with  delight.  "Well,  Eliz- 
abeth," said  he,  "was  I  not  right?  You  did  not 
expect  Reinhardt  to-day.  I  do  not  believe  you 
ever  expected  to  see  him  again." 


IMMENSEE 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  with  a  sisterly  glance 
and  simply  replied:  "You  are  very  good,  Erich." 
Whereupon  Erich  took  her  little  hand  in  his  and 
gently  caressed  it. 

In  the  most  cordial  manner  he  added:  "And 
now  that  we  have  him  here,  we  shall  not  let  him 
leave  us  soon,  shall  we?  He  has  stayed  away  too 
long  already.  We  will  make  him  feel  at  home. 
Just  see  how  he  has  changed  and  how  distin- 
guished looking  he  has  grown." 

As  Elizabeth  shyly  scanned  Reinhardt's  face, 
he  said:  "You  only  see  the  changes  which  time 
makes  in  every  one." 

At  that  instant  Elizabeth's  mother  entered 
with  a  little  basket  of  keys  on  her  arm.  "Why, 
Herr  Werner,"  she  said  as  she  saw  Reinhardt, 
"you  are  a  most  welcome  and  unexpected  visitor 
indeed."  The  conversation  at  first  turned  upon 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

the  usual  personal  matters.  The  two  women 
occupied  themselves  with  their  work,  and  while 
Reinhardt  was  enjoying  the  repast  set  before  him, 
Erich  lit  his  meerschaum,  settled  down  in  his 
easy  chair,  and  the  two  friends  discoursed  together 
upon  various  affairs. 

During  the  next  few  days  Erich  showed  Rein- 
hardt the  pastures,  vineyards,  and  hop  gardens,  and 
through  the  winery.  There  were  evidences  of  his 
excellent  management  everywhere.  His  laborers 
were  healthy,  cheerful,  and  contented.  The  fam- 
ily gathered  in  the  garden  room  at  noon,  and 
Erich  always  joined  them  when  his  duties  allowed. 
Early  in  the  forenoon  and  before  supper  Reinhardt 
was  busily  engaged  in  his  own  room.  He  had 
devoted  his  leisure  for  several  years  to  the  collec- 
tion of  folk  songs,  and  was  now  improving  the 
opportunity  to  arrange  the  old  and  add  some  new 


I  M  ME  NS  EE 

ones,  which  he  had  already  picked  up  in  the 
neighborhood.  Elizabeth  was  gracious  and  cor- 
dial in  her  bearing  toward  him  at  all  times,  but 
he  was  surprised  at  the  humbleness  and  gratitude 
with  which  she  received  Erich's  devoted  atten- 
tions. He  could  hardly  believe  this  was  the 
joyous,  blithesome  Elizabeth  of  the  old  days. 

After  Reinhardt  had  been  there  two  or  three 
days,  he  took  a  walk  every  evening  along  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  The  path  led  close  by  the 
garden  wall,  and  at  one  spot,  where  it  jutted  out, 
there  was  a  bench  under  some  tall  birches.  The 
mother  called  it  the  "evening  bench,"  as  it  was 
rarely  occupied  except  at  sundown.  One  evening, 
while  returning  from  his  stroll,  he  was  overtaken 
by  a  shower.  He  sought  shelter  under  a  linden 
growing  near  the  water's  edge,  but  it  afforded  him 
slight  protection,  and  he  was  soon  drenched.  He 


IMMENSEE 

made  the  best  of  it,  however,  and  slowly  started 
for  the  house.  It  was  growing  dark,  and  the 
storm  rapidly  increased.  As  he  approached  the 
"evening  bench"  he  fancied  he  saw  the  white 
figure  of  a  woman  among  the  birches.  He  hur- 
ried forward  to  see  who  it  was  and  as  he  did  so 
felt  sure  that  she  turned  toward  him,  as  if  she 
were  expecting  to  meet  some  one.  He  thought 
it  must  be  Elizabeth,  but  as  he  quickened  his  steps 
to  reach  her  and  assist  her  home,  she  slowly 
turned  and  disappeared  by  a  dark  side  path.  He 
could  not  understand  the  meaning  of  her  conduct. 
He  was  inclined  to  be  angry  with  her,  though  he 
was  not  perfectly  sure  it  was  Elizabeth.  He 
shrank  from  questioning  her  when  he  reached  the 
house.  He  did  not  even  go  into  the  garden  room, 
lest  he  might  see  her  coming  back  by  way  of  the 

gttr 


VIII 

THE  WATER  LILY 


/  M  MEN  SEE 


VIII 

THE  WATER  LILY 

FEW  days  later  the 
family  were  sitting  to- 
gether at  dusk  in  the 
garden  room,  as  was 
their  custom  at  that  time 
in  the  day.  The  doors 
were  wide  open  and  the 
sun  had  already  sunk 
behind  the  woods  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake. 
Reinhardt  was  asked  to  read  some  folk  songs 
which  he  had  received  that  afternoon  from  a 
friend.  He  went  at  once  to  his  room,  and  returned 
with  a  package  of  neatly  written  manuscripts. 
They  seated  themselves  at  the  table,  Elizabeth  by 


I M  ME N  S  EE 

Reinhardt's  side.  "If  you  will  permiTlne,  1  will 
take  them  as  they  come,"  he  said,  "for  I  have  not 
yet  had  an  opportunity  to  look  them  over." 

Elizabeth  unrolled  the  manuscripts.  "Why, 
here  are  some  set  to  music,"  she  said.  "You 
must  sing  them,  Reinhardt." 

When  he  came  to  some  Tyrolean  songs  Rein- 
hardt occasionally  hummed  the  air  in  an  under- 
tone, to  the  delight  of  the  little  company.  "Who 
could  have  written  such  beautiful  songs,  do  you 
suppose?"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Why,  the  songs  themselves  tell  you,"  said 
Erich.  "They  are  the  work  of  journeymen,  arti- 
sans, and  the  general  rabble." 

Reinhardt  answered  Elizabeth's  question : 
"They  are  not  written  at  all.  They  appear  spon- 
taneously and  drift  about  in  the  air  like  the  gos- 
samer, and  are  sung  in  many  places  simultaneously. 


/ M MEN S EE 


Our  own  feelings  and  emotions  are  expressed  as 
vividly  in  them  as  if  we  had  written  them 
ourselves." 

Reinhardt  picked  up  the  next  song: 

"  I  stood  on  the  lofty  mountain 
And  gazed  at  the  vale  below." 

"1  know  this  one,"  said  Elizabeth.  "Let  us 
sing  it  together."  Her  soft,  sweet  alto  and  Rein- 
hardt's  tenor  blended  exquisitely  in  a  melody, 
almost  too  supernatural  and  mysterious  to  be  of 
human  origin.  The  mother  sat  busily  sewing  as 
they  sang,  and  Erich  folded  his  arms  and  listened 
with  eager  interest.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
song,  Reinhardt  quietly  laid  it  aside,  and  as  he  did 
so  the  tinkle  of  herd  bells  was  wafted  to  them  on 
the  gentle  evening  breeze  from  the  shore  of  the 
lake.  As  they  involuntarily  listened  to  it,  they 
heard  a  boy's  fresh  voice,  singing : 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

"  I  stood  on  the  lofty  mountain 
And  gazed  at  the  vale  below." 

Reinhardt  smilingly  said:  "Do  you  hear? 
That  is  the  way  the  song  goes  from  mouth  to 
mouth." 

"It  is  often  sung  around  here,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Yes,  that  is  so,"  said  Erich.  "It  is  Caspar, 
the  herd  boy,  who  is  singing.  He  is  driving  the 
cows  home." 

They  listened  until  the  sound  of  the  bells  died 
away  among  the  farm  buildings.  "  Those  are  the 
old  primeval  tones  of  Mother  Nature,"  said  Rein- 
hardt. "They  sleep  in  the  forest.  Only  God 
knows  who  wakens  them." 

He  took  up  another  song.  It  was  fast  grow- 
ing dark,  and  the  woods  across  the  lake  were 
bathed  in  the  ruddy  evening  glow.  Reinhardt 
unrolled  the  paper,  and  Elizabeth  kept  it  in  place 


I  M  M  ENS  EE 

with  her  hand  and  followed  the  lines  with    her 
eye  as  Reinhardt  read: 

"For  my  mother's  sake 
I  must  the  other  take; 

My  sun  of  joy  is  set; 

I  must  forget,  forget: 
I  think  my  heart  will  break. 

"They  say,  it  was  not  well 
That  at  Love's  feet  I  fell. 

Is  it  not  greater  shame 

To  bear  an  unloved  name? 
I  could,  but  must  not,  tell. 

"Joy's  leaves,  the  south  wind  curled, 
To  the  ground  are  hurled. 

Had  it  not  come  to  me, 

And  I  could  a  wanderer  be, 
Up  and  down  the  world !" 


/ M MEN SEE 


While  he  read,  Reinhardt  felt  the  paper  trem- 
ble. When  he  had  finished  Elizabeth  gently 
pushed  her  chair  back  and  quietly  went  to  the 
garden.  Her  mother's  eyes  watched  her,  and 
when  Erich  rose  to  go  after  her,  she  said,  "Eliz- 
abeth has  something  to  do  there."  So  Erich  did 
not  follow. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  fast  obscuring 
garden  and  lake,  night  moths  fluttered  past  the 
open  doors,  and  the  strong  perfume  of  flowers  and 
shrubs  filled  the  room.  The  croaking  of  frogs 
rose  from  the  water  in  monotonous  chorus.  Near 
the  windows  a  nightingale  sang  and  its  mate  an- 
swered further  down  the  garden.  The  moon  just 
peeped  above  the  trees.  Reinhardt  watched  Eliz- 
abeth's slender  figure  disappearing  down  the  walk, 
then  rolled  up  his  papers,  bade  Erich  and  the 
mother  good-night,  and  went  to  the  lake. 


IMMENSEE 

The  shadows  of  the  quiet  woods  stretched  far 
out  upon  the  water.  The  middle  of  the  lake  was 
irradiated  with  the  gentle  glow  of  the  moon. 
Occasionally  there  was  a  slight  rustle  of  leaves. 
They  felt  not  the  wind,  only  the  soft  breath  of  . 
the  summer  night.  As  Reinhardt  was  walking 
along  the  edge  of  the  lake  he  saw  a  water  lily 
some  distance  out  from  the  bank.  Wishing  to  see 
it  more  nearly,  he  disrobed  and  stepped  into  the 
water,  which  was  shallow  near  the  shore.  Sharp 
sticks  and  stones  cut  his  feet  before  the  water  was 
deep  enough  for  swimming.  Suddenly  he  went 
down  into  a  deep  hole,  and  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  could  reach  the  surface  again.  Then  he 
struck  out  vigorously  and  swam  about  somewhat 
aimlessly,  trying  to  make  out  just  where  he  was. 
He  soon  saw  the  lily  again.  There  it  lay,  glit- 
tering among  glossy  leaves,  upon  the  still  water. 


I  M  M  E  N  SEE 

He  swam  slowly  toward  it,  now  and  then  raising 
his  arms  out  of  the  water  to  catch  the  flash  of  the 
drops,  but,  despite  his  utmost  exertions,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  got  no  nearer  to  it,  and  yet,  when 
he  looked  back,  the  shore  grew  more  and  more 
indistinct.  He  did  not  relax  his  efforts,  however, 
and  at  last  was  so  near  to  the  lily  that  he  could 
clearly  see  its  silvery  petals.  At  that  very  instant 
he  found  himself  in  a  network  of  smooth,  cling- 
ing stems  below  the  surface,  which  were  twisting 
themselves  around  his  limbs.  An  unknown,  mys- 
terious water  spread  darkly  about  him,  and  he 
heard  near  by  the  splash  of  fish  jumping  out  of 
it.  A  sudden  feeling  of  dread  possessed  him.  He 
was  becoming  so  closely  enmeshed  in  the  lily  net 
that  he  grew  alarmed,  released  himself  with  a 
great  effort,  and  swam  back  to  the  shore  in  breath- 
less haste.  Once  again  in  shallow  water,  he  looked 


IMMENSEE 

back  and  saw  the  lily,  resting  in  solitary  beauty 
above  the  dark,  mysterious  depths.  He  dressed 
himself  and  slowly  returned  to  the  house.  As  he 
entered  from  the  garden  the  mother  was  assisting 
Erich  in  preparations  for  a  little  business  trip  on 
the  following  day. 

"Where  have  you  been  and  what  has  kept 
you  out  so  late,"  said  she. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  get  a  water  lily,"  he 
replied;  "but  I  tried  in  vain." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  Erich.  "What 
in  the  world  did  you  want  of  a  water  lily?" 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  a  lily  which  I  once 
knew,"  said  Reinhardt;  "but  that  was  a  long 
time  ago ! " 


IX 

ELIZABETH 


IMMENSEE 


IX 

ELIZABETH 


N  the  next  forenoon 
Reinhardt  and  Elizabeth 
went  to  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  lake.  Their 
road  took  them  at  first 
through  woods  and  then 
along  a  high  bluff. 
Erich  had  requested 
Elizabeth  to  show  Reinhardt  the  most  beautiful 
scenery  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  during 
his  absence,  and  particularly  the  view  of  the  farm 
from  the  other  shore.  The  two  went  from  one 
charming  spot  to  another,  but  at  last  Elizabeth 
was  tired  and  seated  herself  in  the  grateful  shade 


IMMENSEE 

of  overhanging  branches,  while  Reinhardt  leaned 
against  a  tree  near  her.  The  call  of  a  cuckoo, 
deep  in  the  woods,  recalled  memories  of  the  old 
days.  He  looked  at  Elizabeth  with  a  smile,  and 
said,  "Shall  we  hunt  for  strawberries?" 

"  It  is  not  strawberry  time,"  she  replied. 

"  But  it  soon  will  be,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth  sadly  shook  her  head  and  said  no 
more.  She  arose  and  they  started  again.  As  she 
walked  by  Reinhardt's  side,  he  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  away  from  her  slender  figure.  Her  steps 
were  so  light  that  she  seemed  to  glide  along  as  if 
her  garments  were  wings.  He  slackened  his  pace 
several  times  that  he  might  observe  her  more 
easily.  At  last  they  reached  an  open  spot  covered 
with  heather  and  commanding  an  extended  view 
of  the  country.  Reinhardt  stooped  and  plucked 
a  blossom,  and  as  he  looked  up  at  her  there  was 


IMMENSEE 

an  expression  of  deepest  sorrow  in  his  face.      "  Do 
you  know  this  flower,  Elizabeth?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Yes,  it  is  the 
heather.  I  have  often  gathered  it  in  the  woods." 

"  I  have  an  old  book  at  home,"  said  Rein- 
hardt,  "in  which  I  used  to  write  all  kinds  of 
songs  and  verses.  I  do  not  write  in  it  any  more. 
There  is  a  heather  between  its  leaves,  but  it  is  a 
withered  one.  Do  you  know  who  gave  it  to  me?" 

She  silently  bowed  assent,  then  cast  down  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  the  flower  he  held  in  his  hand. 
When  she  lifted  them  he  saw  that  they  were 
filled  with  tears. 

"Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "somewhere,  over  there 
beyond  those  blue  mountains,  is  our  lost  youth. 
Where  has  it  gone?" 

They    spoke    no    more    together    of  this    as 
they  walked  side  by  side  to  the  lake.      The  air 


IMMENSEE 

had  grown  sultry  and  dark,  and  angry- looking 
clouds  were  piling  up  in  the  west.  "  I  fear  there 
is  going  to  be  a  storm,"  said  Elizabeth,  and  they 
quickened  their  pace  until  they  reached  the  boat. 
While  crossing,  Elizabeth  rested  her  hand  upon 
the  rail.  Reinhardt  looked  at  her  occasionally,  as 
he  was  rowing,  but  her  eyes  were  steadily  fixed 
upon  those  far-away  blue  mountains,  so  he  looked 
at  her  hand,  whose  delicate  lines  revealed  only  too 
plainly  what  her  face  concealed.  He  saw  in  it  those 
unmistakable  traces  of  secret  sorrow  which  imprint 
themselves  upon  fair  women's  hands  when  they  lie 
folded  at  night  over  weary,  aching  hearts.  As  soon 
as  Elizabeth,  however,  realized  he  was  looking  at 
her  hand,  she  slowly  lowered  it  to  the  water's  edge. 
When  the  farm  was  reached  they  saw  the  bar- 
row of  a  scissors-grinder  in  front  of  the  house.  A 
man  with  shaggy,  black  hair  vigorously  worked 


IMMENSEE 

the  treadle,  humming  a  gipsy  melody  between  his 
teeth.  A  dog,  harnessed  to  the  barrow,  lay  pant- 
ing by  his  side.  A  girl  in  shabby  attire,  with  fine 
but  faded  features,  extended  her  hand  to  Elizabeth 
for  alms.  Reinhardt  felt  in  his  pockets,  but  Eliz- 
abeth anticipated  him  and  emptied  the  contents  of 
her  purse  into  the  beggar's  palm.  Then  she 
quickly  turned,  and  Reinhardt  heard  her  sob  as 
she  slowly  went  up  the  stairs.  He  was  about  to 
follow  her,  but  at  sight  of  the  girl  again  he  paused. 
She  was  still  standing  there  with  the  money  in 
her  hand.  "What  more  do  you  want?"  said  he. 
She  started.  "  I  want  nothing  more,"  said 
she.  Then  turning  toward  him  and  staring  at 
him  wildly,  she  moved  slowly  away.  He  called 
to  her,  but  she  did  not  hear.  With  bowed  head 
and  arms  crossed  over  her  breast,  she  kept  on,  and 
an  old  song  rang  in  his  ears  — 


I  M  M  E  ATSEE 

"Then  will  love  be  gone, 
And  I  alone." 

Reinhardt  stood  for  an  instant  as  if  stunned, 
then  turned  and  went  to  his  room.  He  tried  to 
lose  himself  in  work,  but  thoughts  would  not 
come.  After  making  fruitless  efforts  for  an  hour, 
he  went  down  to  the  living-room.  It  was  empty. 
A  red  ribbon  which  Elizabeth  had  worn  round 
her  neck  that  forenoon  was  lying  on  her  sewing- 
table.  He  took  it  up,  but  it  gave  him  such  a  pang 
that  he  had  to  replace  it.  As  he  could  not  sleep 
he  went  down  to  the  lake,  and  unfastening  the  boat, 
rowed  to  the  other  side  and  followed  the  path 
which  he  and  Elizabeth  had  taken  a  short  time 
before.  When  he  reached  the  house  again  it  was 
very  dark.  He  saw  Erich's  driver  taking  the 
horses  out,  for  the  traveller  had  returned.  As  he 
entered  the  house  again  he  heard  Erich's  steps  in 


I M  M  ENS  E  E 

the  garden  room,  but  he  did  not  go  to  meet  him. 
He  listened  a  moment,  then  went  to  his  own 
room.  He  seated  himself  in  an  arm  chair  by  the 
window  and  tried  to  listen  to  a  nightingale,  sing- 
ing in  a  yew  tree  below,  but  he  heard  only  the 
beating  of  his  own  heart.  All  in  the  house  were 
at  rest.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  but  he  took  no 
heed  of  time.  Thus  the  weary  night  wore  away. 
At  last  he  arose  and  went  to  the  open  window. 
The  leaves  were  heavy  with  the  night  dews.  The 
nightingale  had  ceased  its  singing.  The  deep 
blue  blackness  of  the  night  sky  was  gradually  dis- 
appearing before  the  pale  golden  glow  in  the  east. 
A  fresh  breeze  sprang  up  and  fanned  his  heated 
brow.  The  first  lark  soared  into  the  sky  and  filled 
all  the  air  with  its  delicious  morning  song. 

Reinhardt  suddenly  turned,  went  to  his  table, 
and  wrote  a  few  lines.     Then  taking  his  cap  and 


IMMENSEE 

cane,  and  leaving  the  paper  unfolded  upon  the 
table,  he  noiselessly  opened  the  door  and  went 
down  stairs.  The  morning  light  filled  every  room. 
The  great  house  cat  stretched  itself  upon  the  rug 
and  rubbed  its  back  against  Reinhardts  hand, 
which  he  involuntarily  held  out  to  it.  Out  in 
the  garden  the  sparrows  were  chattering  in  the 
branches,  telling  the  world  that  the  night  had 
passed.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  door  open  and  ap- 
proaching steps.  He  looked  around  and  Elizabeth 
stood  before  him.  She  placed  her  hand  upon  his 
arm.  Her  lips  moved,  but  her  words  were  inau- 
dible. At  last  she  said:  "You  are  never  coming 
again,  Reinhardt.  I  know  it.  You  are  never 
coming  back  again." 

"Never  again,"  he  replied.  She  withdrew 
her  hand  and  spoke  no  more.  He  went  to  the 
door,  then  turned  for  a  last  look.  She  stood 


IMMENSEE 

motionless  and  gazed  at  him,  as  if  with  dead  eyes. 
He  advanced  a  step,  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her 
imploringly,  then,  with  a  supreme  effort,  turned 
and  vanished  from  her  sight.  The  w.orld  was 
flooded  with  the  glory  of  the  morning  light.  The 
dewdrops  on  the  spiders'  webs  glistened  in  the 
first  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  Reinhardt  did  not 
look  back  again.  Immensee  gradually  disappeared 
behind  him.  Before  him  outstretched  the  great 
wide  world.  Farther  and  farther  away  receded 
the  blue  mountains  which  hid  his  lost  youth. 


X 

THE  VISION  FADES  AWAY 


I M  MENS  EE 


X 


THE  VISION  FADES  AWAY 


HE  moon  shone  no 
longer  through  the 
window  panes.  The 
room  grew  dark.  But 
the  old  man  sat  yet  a 
while  with  folded  arms 
in  his  arm  chair,  lost  in 
revery.  Gradually  the 
darkness  all  about  him  changed  to  a  great  dark 
lake.  A  black,  mysterious  body  of  water  stretched 
far  into  the  distance,  ever  darker,  ever  deeper,  ever 
more  mysterious,  and  at  last,  so  far  away  that  the 
old  man's  eyes  could  hardly  discern  it,  he  saw  a 
water  lily  floating  in  solitary  beauty  and  purity. 


I  M  M  E  N  SEE 

The  door  was  opened  and  a  bright  light 
streamed  into  the  room. 

"It  is  well  that  you  are  come,  Brigitte,"  said 
the  old  man.  "You  may  bring  in  the  light." 

He  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table,  took  one 
of  the  open  books,  and  buried  himself  in  the 
studies  which  were  his  passionate  delight  in  his 
lost  youth, — in  their  youth  together,  now  lost 
forever  beyond  the  blue  mountains. 


A     000  895  967     8 

V 


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ia 


